


Shattered Peace

by JackandMarkaremySunandStars (ImagineBeingSafe)



Series: Tightrope [1]
Category: Markiplier-fandom, Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Belly Rubs, F/M, Food Issues, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Pet Names, Stomach Ache, Vomiting, anxiety induced illness, lots of pet names
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-25
Updated: 2018-03-25
Packaged: 2019-04-07 19:24:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,375
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14087958
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ImagineBeingSafe/pseuds/JackandMarkaremySunandStars
Summary: Mark's the one who was in a car crash, not you.He's fine, by the way. Why aren't you?Why can't you let go? how did it get this far?





	Shattered Peace

**Author's Note:**

> First off, none of this is based in reality. It may be based on real people, but this is just a story. It's just stuff pulled from my head, that i think others might like.

That call is the worse one you've ever gotten. As soon as you got it, you couldn't move fast enough.

 

Screw Caine- your boss's stepbrother- the one in charge today, the one with a stone to grind on you and the others.

 

**_It's Mark._ **

 

Besides, Nicole has seniority, and your back. She'll make sure your side gets told.

 

+

 

When you get back to his exam room, he's sheepish. The only harm you can see, are bruises and a few small cuts closed with steri-strips.  You wait for the nurse to bring the discharge sheet and after care packet.

 

That night, you don't curl close to him like you're used to. That night you watch him sleep for a long time.

 

That night sleep doesn't come until your eyes burn, and when it does, it's laced with nightmares.

 

+

The next day, he almost looks worse. You have work, but you don't want to leave him looking like that.

 

"I can stay home."

 

"No. I'll be fine, Mira. Just… walk me to the couch?"

 

"Of course, love."

 

You are watching him intently, so you are unprepared for him to spin and throw you into the couch when  you are less then a foot away. you look back at him in shock.

 

Mark's laugh echoes through the house.  You can't quite believe his audacity.

 

"Fine, you assbutt. I'm going to work."

 

+

 

Maybe, if it was different, you could have laughed along with him. And it would have been okay.

 

But there is shit he doesn't know. Like the reason Nicole and her daughter are the only family you claims.

 

He knows about the anxiety and depression, knows that you have bad days.

 

Honestly, you hate yourself for being so effected.

 

The bruises fade quickly, the cuts heal. He's _fine._

 

The nightmares won't stop.

 

 Gravestone. Storm. Alone, alone, **_alone._**

 

Going through Mark's house to find it utterly empty- no note, no goodbye, just **gone.**

 

When you wake at night, you've gotten into the habit of going out for walks, taking Chica, because the first time, you were afraid she'd bark the house down.

 

You usually come back home and pass out on the couch, with Chica right next to you. She's a good guard dog.

 

And if home is bad, work is worse. Caine's riding you so hard, that just hearing him yell your name makes you shiver with nausea. Nothing new with your anxiety, but it still isn't good

 

You aren't eating well, not sleeping well.  So the fall at work, isn't a surprise.

 

You're stocking in the back, and a box catches your foot.  You land hard, managing to twist to the side.

 

Nicole hears it, and comes running.

 

"Jesus, Mira!"

 

You get yourself up, panting through your answer.

 

"I'm fine Nic, just - ibprophen, please?"

 

Nicole sighs, and resolves to text Mark, because this is enough crap you've gone through, and if she can't do anything…

 

+

 

Mark comes out of his room, and sees you asleep on the couch, with a hand on Chica, who's sleeping on her bed, on the floor. You'd moved it so she was in arms reach.

 

He smiles softly at the picture you two make. What Nic had texted him about could wait.

 

He sits and waits for you to wake up.

 

+

 

_"Mark!"_

 

_You threw your arms around him._

 

_"I was worried, I haven't seen you-"_

 

_He shoves you to the floor._

 

_"God, you're pathetic. Why would I stay with someone broken like you?"_

 

_He turns his back on you, and heads toward the door._

 

_"Please!  I - Don't-_ **_Don't_ ** _-  I'm sorry! I'll do better!_

 

_Please, don't leave!"_

 

**_Please!_ **

 

**_+_ **

 

Mark looked up as you moved in your sleep.

 

"Please. Please, Don't!"

 

You were begging, pleading. You had never sounded like that before and it tore at him.

 

" ** _Please!_** "

 

He got up just in time to stop you from falling off the couch.

 

You moving so violently startles Chica, and she starts barking, which helps knock you out of the dream.

 

Mark would never leave Chica, after all.

 

 

Mark has an arm around you, his other hand is smoothing your sleep-mussed hair.

 

"You want to tell me what that was?"

 

"I- I Don't-"   You stammer, then snap your mouth closed. You start again, but it's painful. You also know you need to lance this, before it poisons you farther, so you keep going.

 

" ** _Life?_** Since the crash? It's just… awful. Work sucks. I can't eat, can't sleep without nightmares.

 

"I know you're fine. I don't know why I can't let go."

 

You echo your dream with a vehement-

 

"I'm so fucking pathetic."

 

Mark's hand moves to cup your face.

 

"Don't do that."

 

 "Let's move on," you say.

 

Mark sighed.

 

"Just remember I'm here."

 

You stretch slightly. A pang of pain radiates from the side you'd fallen on.

 

" _Oww…_ "

 

Mark looks at you in concern.

 

You sigh disgustedly.

 

"I… fell at work… caught my foot on a box."

 

He sighs himself.

 

"Come on, Painkillers, food. Let's go."

+

+

 

In hindsight, the pasta was a bad idea. But, you were desperate for normal. Desperate to show Mark that you were fine. So you ate a full plate. But after a few weeks of small meals/snacking throughout the day to prevent vomiting, your system wasn't ready.

 

 

You settled on the couch, fuller than you'd been in a week or two. Mark flipped through Netflix, then picked some old school Disney movie, one you both liked. He stretched out, then patted the couch beside him.

 

You pulled off your hoodie- it was way too warm- leaving you in a thin tee shirt.

You laid by him, and he wrapped an arm around you. As you watched, you shifted every so often, feeling your stomach struggling to digest your meal.  Mark's hold tightened slightly.

 

"You ok, sweetheart?" He asked, voice laced with concern.

 

"Yeah, I- I think I just over did it. I'll-"

 

You tensed up. The both of you heard your stomach's loud gurgle of upset.

 

You grunted in pain at the end.

 

"Belly rub?" He asks.

 

"Y-yeah."  It couldn't hurt.

 

Mark slid his hand under your t-shirt. Warm and solid, with slightly roughened fingertips from playing guitar.

 

It felt wonderful.

 

The pressure from his hand brought forth a small but forceful burp.

 

"Sor-rry!" You stammer.

 

"Don't be. I just want you to feel better," he coaxes.

 

His hand slides in a circle, he could feel the bubbling and gurgling underneath his palm.

 

You squirm a bit, one hand unbuttoning your jeans, the other staying near your mouth.

 

If you were going to burp, you were at least going to muffle it.

 

You sunk back into him, and let Mark work magic with his hand.

 

Once more, he felt the gurgle in your stomach before he heard it.

 

You muffle several burps into your hand, your face goes rosy.

 

It's starting to feel a bit better, but it's embarrassing. You press your head into Mark's chest.

 

It's been a shit few weeks. So sleep pulls you under quickly. You feel a soft kiss pressed to your forehead

+

 

_Thunder crashed, and rain poured._

 

_Mark's name in stone._

 

_You were alone. Again_

 

_Why did you always lose what mattered most?_

 

+

You jerk awake. Mark had been dozing a bit, but when your dreams had turned rough he'd woken.

 

He'd started to rub your stomach again, trying to help soothe without waking you, but it hadn't worked.

 

God, you looked so lost.

 

"Mira?"

 

You panted quietly and hiccupped wetly  The nightmare had thrown you from overfull but mostly alright to straight nausea

 

 

You struggled up, and wobbled halfway. He reached for you.

 

"Don't!"

 

 

You don't mean to snap, not really. But you can't be touched right now.

 

You head to the bathroom. Mark follows.

 

He cringes when he hears violent retching, but keeps going.

 

He fits himself behind your keeling form, and rubs your back.

 

"It's alright, I gotcha," he sooths.

 

There's a pause, and you try- apologizing, maybe? He doesn't know, because you heave again, and it's lost in the mess.

 

Then it's over, and you lean back against him.

 

Mark holds you, and you just….  Breathe. Be. 

 

He can feel that you're soaked in sweat, from the dream or being ill, he's not sure.

 

He flushes the toilet, puts the seat down, and lifts you onto it.

 

"Baby, I need to grab a shirt for you, ok? I'll be back in a moment."

 

He comes back with a sleep shirt, a washcloth and a water bottle cold from the fridge.

 

Your head is down, he can see that utterly lost look on your face once more.

 

"Mira?"

 

At least you looked up at him? But you were still out of it. 

 

Mark moved to the sink, and wet the wash cloth.

 

He moved it across your face in tender strokes.  You make a soft appreciative noise in back of your throat and his face softened.

 

He hands the bottle of water to you.

 

When you feel like shit, you get tactile as hell. As you sip at the water, you reach your other hand out and catch his shirt.

 

_"Oh_ , **_Mira_**. I'm not going _anywhere_."

 

Standing in front of you, your head is at about his stomach height.  You bury your head into it.

 

One of Mark's hand comes up and clasps the back of your head tenderly, the other slides up and down your back.

 

You stayed that way for a moment. Until you shiver.

 

"Okay, shirt off. You're soaked."

 

He reaches to help you when you struggle.

 

His hands leave you.

 

" _What the_ ** _fuck?!_** "

 

Your fall at work had left a nasty bruise, and anger had swept away Mark's softness.

 

Your brain didn't register that he wasn't mad at _you._ Just pissed that it happened to you at all. And you'd told him about it, but he… was not prepared.

 

Thing is, you bruise easy. So it looks worse than it is.

 

You shiver again. He reached and pulled it off briskly. He reached for the other shirt, and he's not that careful with you as he puts it on.

 

' _what did I do?_ ' flies through your head.

 

' _sorry-sorry-sorry-sorry!_ '

 

Another wet hiccup slides out of you, then you pitch forward and vomit the water you'd just drank onto the floor between your feet.

 

" ** _Mira!_** " Mark yelps in dismay.

 

This is the third time you've vomited in the space of a few minutes, and your body's done.

 

Dizziness overwhelms you. You whimper softly, and he catches you as you slump forward with your eyes closed.

 

You come back as he's lifting you up, to carry you bridal style.

 

 "…Mark?" Your voice is raspy and unsure.

 

"Yeah, Baby?"

 

"Bed, please?"

 

"That's the plan."

 

He sets you on the edge of the bed. You run your tongue around the back of your teeth.

 

"C'n I brush my teeth?" You ask softly, sleep slurring your voice.

 

He quickly brought back a cup and toothbrush spread with cinnamon toothpaste.

 

At least your mouth feels right, even if the rest of you doesn't.

 

You kick off your jeans, and slide under the covers.

 

He gets into his own side of the bed. He pulls you close.

 

The last few weeks have been horrible. But tonight. Tonight was a firestorm.

 

The tears come again, hitching breathes the sign that sleep isn't happening yet.

 

He shifts you in his arms, peppering you with soft kisses, trying to comfort you. Usually doing this will make you laugh.  One lingers on your forehead.

 

"Sleep, Baby. I'm here, I'm not leaving you. You won't lose me."

 

+

 

In the morning, Mark wakes before you. He watches you sleep for a bit, then gets up.

 

He's making sure you eat. 

 

You wake to the smell of egg and toast and chamomile. A mug is sitting on the bedside table.

 

You sit up and grab it. Mark must be downstairs, making breakfast. You take a sip. It's at perfect drinking temperature, sweetened just right with honey. It goes down easy.

 

"Good morning, Beautiful."

 

Mark, in the doorway, holding a tray. Hair still messy from sleep, eyes soft, _perfect._

 

You drain the rest of the mug, and smile at him.

 

He sets the tray on your lap, and goes to the other side of the bed and climbs in.

 

You look down at the tray. _He remembered it all._

 

There's a small list of things you eat after a bad night, and he's made a meal out of most of it.

 

You don't dwell on the thought that no one else has cared to get it right, besides Nicole and her mother. _And they are family, and family's_ ** _meant_** _to do that._

 

Instead you state the fact that no one's ever made you breakfast in bed before. That's wrong because Mark's face turns sad for a moment. But he doesn't dwell either. Just smiles and says:

 

"Get used to it, babe."

 

"Oh, you intend to spoil me rotten?" you tease.

 

"Yes."

 

"Why, I'll have to do the same. Double, even."

 

"I look forward to it," he rumbles.

 

For a second, there is nothing but that voice and your reaction to it.

 

You swear, Mark has no idea what he does to you.

 

"Come on, eat. Before the eggs get cold."

 

Annd- back to normal. He's right. Cold eggs. **_Eww._**

 

One egg, toast slice with cherry preserve, and most of the milk. Slowly, carefully, but all eaten.

 

He's gotten you a small dish of peach yogurt too, but you're not sure…

 

"Finish that and I'll give you a belly rub after," He offers.

 

That's too good to pass over. Besides, yogurt's easy.

 

He puts the tray on the floor. You roll toward him.

 

He slides his hands under your shirt once you're comfortable. He's gotten really good at this.

 

Gentle, but also just firm enough.

 

"I'm going to fall back sleep," you murmur after awhile.

 

"Go ahead," He hums softly.

 

Pretty sure that's his goal, anyways.

 

"Work?" You counter.

 

"I called Nic, She said she'd talk to-

 

' _Dear god, not Caine,'_ flits through your head and you tense.

 

"-Colin? You have today, at least. The morning's ours."

 

You relax, and let some of it go.

 

Mark's here. Safe.  You don't have to do anything or go anywhere.

 

Your eyes slip close.

 

_Everything's good._

**Author's Note:**

> I've got more in this universe coming soon.  
> I hope you enjoyed!


End file.
